


Red flags

by tveckling



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Established Relationship, Hints of Connor/Markus, M/M, Quick hint of Connor/Hank, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 01:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: “I took you in, fed you, taught you, supported and trained you. Everything you are today, is because of me. I gave you everything I had, spared no expenses. I made you. And, now,” Elijah says with a dangerously calm voice, pressing down harder on Connor's throat, “now you think you can just… leave? Leave me?”Connor’s eyelids flicker, the tears finally falling, and he tries to say Elijah's name, hopes, pleads, begs to be heard. His chest burns, and darkness is creeping in on the edges of his field of vision. And Elijah notices none of it—or he doesn't care.





	Red flags

“I gave you  _ everything _ , and this- this is how you repay me, Connor?”

Connor shakes his head, desperately trying to get words out, but the hand around his throat won't let him. Elijah stares down at him with cold eyes, colder than Connor remembers ever being directed his way, and tightens his grip. The tears threaten to fall from his wide eyes as Connor strains, his hands twitching in the cuffs keeping them secured at his back. His body's free, he can move and roll and twist, but with all his focus going towards Elijah's hand pushing down on his throat, and the way his body aches for oxygen, he can't even think about trying to escape the grip that way.

Not that Elijah would have let him, had he tried.

“I took you in, fed you, taught you, supported and trained you. Everything you are today, is because of me. I gave you everything I had, spared no expenses. I  _ made _ you. And, now,” Elijah says with a dangerously calm voice, pressing down harder on Connor's throat, “now you think you can just…  _ leave _ ? Leave  _ me _ ?”

Connor’s eyelids flicker, the tears finally falling, and he tries to say Elijah's name, hopes, pleads, begs to be heard. His chest burns, and darkness is creeping in on the edges of his field of vision. And Elijah notices none of it—or he doesn't care.

“You cannot leave, Connor. No one does, but least of all  _ you _ .” Elijah pushes a thumb underneath Connor's eye, pulls it down to the corner of his mouth, pulling the skin with it. He sounds calm, but Connor knows better, knows that when he's like this, that's when he's at his most dangerous. “You're mine, Connor. I made you, and you belong to me. You  _ cannot _ leave. I'll sooner kill you than let you go.”

And that's exactly what he's doing, Connor wants to say as Elijah wipes away a stray tear. But maybe Elijah isn't lost in his anger, like Connor thought. Maybe he  _ is _ aware of what he’s doing, perfectly calculating the tightness of his hand and the color of Connor's face and the way Connor's struggles grow weaker. Just as he always calculates everything. Maybe he's intentionally deriving Connor of air and life, slowly but surely.

His tears run even faster at that, and Connor's eyes flicker shut. The buzzing in his ears is growing stronger. His head feels tighter, fuller, aches like it's about to burst open, and Connor can't think of why he shouldn't just give in, and give up. He can't think, at all.

“But I'm not cruel; I offer second chances.”

The hand's removed, and abruptly Connor can  _ breathe _ . It hurts, pulling air through his abused throat, filling up his bruised lungs, and Connor coughs and chokes and gasps. He cries even harder as he curls up on his side, disturbing the ribs he knows are broken, but he can't control the way his oxygen-starved body desperately fights for more air than he can take in at one time. Distantly he's aware of Elijah sitting next to him, legs crossed, his hand caressing Connor's head, stroking his hair.

He's still struggling for breath, taking rasping gulps of air, when Elijah's hand grabs his hair, painfully, and pulls him up. Connor can  _ feel _ strands being ripped from his scalp, but that's all he has time to think about before Elijah's mouth is covering his, and a tongue is pushed into his mouth,  _ taking _ without mercy. A whimper flees the back of his throat as Connor closes his eyes, ignoring the wetness of his eyelashes. Elijah pulls him tight, devours him and sucks out the breath Connor had been fighting so hard for, and Connor’s hands twitch again, the familiar ache spreading in his body  _ again _ as the seconds pass and Elijah keeps kissing him.

And, then, he's released. Elijah pulls away, letting go of Connor and watches as he bonelessly falls back on the bed. This time, when Connor takes painful, heaving gasps, Elijah’s smirk is clearly visible.

“I'll give you another chance, Connor, since you've been so good up ‘til now. You'll continue to be mine, be made to prove your loyalty over and over until I feel you can be trusted again.” Connor shivers as Elijah talks, tone as calm and pleasant as though they're talking about the weather. “Your privileges will be restricted, in a number of ways. For one, you will not be allowed to leave my presence. You will not be allowed access to your cell phone. You will not be allowed to speak without my permission. You will be doing everything you can to please me, to get back in my good graces, and I'll keep you leashed like the unruly, ungrateful pet you've proven to be. Then—if you can prove that you've learned your lesson—you may start to earn back privileges.

“It's this, or I will kill you, here and now.” Elijah actually smiles, carding his hair through Connor’s hair softly. “I'll let you choose.”

Tremors plague Connor’s entire body, and he stares at the man he used to be so grateful to, the man he used to love, the man who  _ owns _ him. He wishes, more than anything, that he hadn't met Hank, that he hadn't met Markus, that his eyes hadn't been opened. He can't possibly imagine how he'll be able to stay there, to stay with Elijah, to do everything Elijah tells him to, not when he's gotten a glimpse of something  _ else _ , something  _ more _ . But he knows he can't escape—not now, not like this, not with Elijah watching with those eyes, ready to kill him without any hesitation.

He doesn't want to die.

“I-” Connor coughs, curls up even more, tries mindlessly, helplessly to get out of the bonds he'd let be tied around his hands. Elijah waits, patiently, until he can breathe again, until he can speak with a hoarse voice that makes his throat hurt with every word. “You, Elijah. I'll stay with you.”

Elijah smiles, a wide, eager, bright smile, and rubs Connor's hair, like he used to when Connor was a child. He loved it, even if it ruined his hairstyle. Now, the touch makes him sick to his stomach. 

“I knew you'd pick the right answer. It's the only logical one, and you’ve always been a logical person. We'll hope this foolish idea of yours disappear soon enough, along with all those other childish ideas you used to have. We have great things to accomplish, you and I, and I can't have you break my plans just like this. Tomorrow, we'll go buy a leash and a collar for you—you'll be wearing it for a long time, after all. It's only fair that you'll come along to pick it out, don't you agree?”

Connor focuses on breathing, forces his too tight chest to open up and accept air. His eyes are teary again, no matter how many times he blinks, and all he can do is lower his eyes, stare down at the mattress instead of at Elijah. But Elijah has plans of his own, and Connor lifts his face when prompted by the finger at his chin. It  _ hurts _ to look into Elijah's face, now.

“But that's for tomorrow,” Elijah says, removing his finger from Connor's face. 

Connor knows better than to turn away again. Instead, he watches silently as Elijah shifts position, sits further into the middle of the bed, and spreads with legs wider. Before his eyes can turn back, Connor knows what's going to happen. He knows what Elijah expects of him. And he's done it countless times, has enjoyed it, found so much pleasure in it, has  _ loved _ it. Now, he has to blink furiously to keep the tears at bay, and he lowers his eyes to Elijah's thigh, unable to look any higher.

“For now, you will start to prove your commitment again. Come here, pet.”

Connor focuses on breathing, thinks of nothing but breathing, and slowly moves forward, until Elijah's hand finds itself on his bare back. A light pressure is all it takes, then Connor bends down, tugging the top button of Elijah's pants open with his mouth. His hands twitch in their binds as he pulls down the fly, the feeling of metal against his teeth making Connor want to spit. But Elijah's hand remains at his back, and Connor doesn't allow himself any pause, immediately moves onto carefully pulling down Elijah's underwear—once, several years earlier, Connor tested licking and sucking on Elijah's cock through the fabric. That's when he discovered the man absolutely hates the feeling of clammy underwear. After that, Connor always makes sure to keep the fabric as dry as possible when he gives Elijah a blowjob.

And it should be simple, it should be easy, to just take Elijah into his mouth. He's just barely starting to fill out, and Connor can all too easily fit him in his mouth like this. But the act is disgusting, makes his stomach turn as he opens his mouth, and Connor scrunches his eyes closed, ignores the sound of Elijah's soft sigh, tries to pretend it’s someone else,  _ anyone _ else. But the taste and the feeling is unmistakable; he's sucked Elijah off so many times, he can picture every detail of the cock even with his eyes closed. He knows that if he moves his tongue like  _ that _ , if he rubs  _ that _ spot like so, if he pulls back and tightens his lips at precisely  _ that _ spot and sucks—he tries, but he can't pretend it's someone else, can't pretend it's Markus, can't pretend it's any of his handsome friends, he even tries and fails to pretend it's  _ Hank _ . But it's all useless.

Elijah murmurs his name, and Connor bends his head lower, takes Elijah deeper. The hand at his back goes into his hair, pulls and pushes and strokes, all depending on what he wants Connor to do. And Connor, Connor keeps his eyes closed and prays his tears don't fall, and works. He doesn't want to die. But, suddenly, it doesn't feel like too bad an idea.


End file.
